As we left the hangar of a hall in Manchester, the throb of Fleetwood Mac’s Don’t Stop in our ears, I heard a delegate being interviewed. “Well,” he said, his blazer buttons glinting, “you can’t be euphoric at this stage.”

Can’t you? I think that, minutes after your leader has given his big speech of the year, you are allowed to be just a tad ebullient. Instead, the Tory conference was full of people, perfectly happy but not exactly fizzing with excitement.

Where was the passion, Dave? Even the on-stage cuddles with Samantha, after the speech was over, had been